


Chocolate bourbon pecan

by Hermit9



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Food as a Metaphor for Love, M/M, Pie, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 15:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10744875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermit9/pseuds/Hermit9
Summary: Prompt fill : Castiel tries to make a food





	Chocolate bourbon pecan

Cas frowned and gently tipped more sugar into the bowl, waiting for the needle to point to 200g. The scale had come with the bunker, it was old and Cas had spent most of the morning repairing and calibrating the device. He needed it to be precise. He was was patient beyond eons. He could wait for the wild swing of the needle to settle. Satisfied, he poured the sugar into the pot, brushing gently to get every last crystal.

\- - -

It had been a good hunt. A salt and burn, ghost not too far gone, attached to his prosthetic leg. No grave digging required, and Sam had only been thrown into a wall once. They both had post hunt adrenaline jitters and the drive back had been filled with laughter. 

All of which combined made him unprepared for the sense of _wrong_ as he stepped in the bunker. Dean had his gun in his hand as a comforting weight as he carefully went down the stairs. The library was intact, the lights on. There was nothing out of place, save a pervasive sweet scent.

Rounding the corner to the kitchen Dean came to an abrupt stop. Sam walked into his back and they both made a noise that wasn’t a squeak. The counter was piled high with bowls and pots. Castiel was standing by the sink, stripped of his coat and suit jacket, sleeves rolled up as he efficiently washed and dried dishes. 

Sam peeked around Dean’s shoulder and laughed, a short burst he disguised as a cough. “Calling dibs on that shower,” he said, bitting down on his knuckle and running away before he could ruin anything.

“Hello Dean,” said Castiel, finally turning around, arms covered in suds. 

“Heya Cas. What are you doing?”

“Cleaning,” said Cas, “I had not realised pie baking would dirty so many dishes."

Dean swallowed and looked at the small, utilitarian, kitchen table. A perfect, still warm, pecan pie was placed precisely in its center.

“You _baked_ a pie?”

“Chocolate bourbon pecan pie,” Cas said, nodding. “I remembered you said pecan was your favorite and my research gave this recipe excellent chances of success.”

Dean was walking forward, gun carelessly forgotten on the half shelf over the coffee maker.

“You made **me** a pie?” he asked, voice a little lower and thicker with all the unspoken things he didn’t allow himself to even think.

“Of course,” said Cas. He stood very still, eyes wide and hands fluttering at his sides. His eyes were so very blue. They pulled at Dean, magnetic, until there was no space between them.

Cas tasted of sugar and ozone and rain. Dean wasn’t hungry, not for pie. There was always the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> The amazing [Pimento](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pimento) made art for this story!


End file.
